


Q's Day Out

by Yel_Ashaya



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: 20th Century, F/M, Q Continuum, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 03:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14011587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yel_Ashaya/pseuds/Yel_Ashaya
Summary: You wake up. Q is on your sofa. That's all I'm saying...(Originally published on fanfiction.net, where I'm called 'Yel Ashaya')Disclaimer: Star Trek, except my OCs, is not mine (sadly)





	1. Chapter 1

The 80's. A period of political turmoil and uncertainty, but with a few things thrown in which managed to perk up everybody's day. Those two things were quite similar, and yet, were also somehow polar opposites. The first was quite obvious, being music. And, the second one was a little different, yet still sticking to the media and entertainment film. That was movies, or films, as they are called in England.

The music was not all one genre. It was many different ones. And, they were all being churned out over and over again on some sort of hideous and annoying repetitive loop on every single radio station there could ever possibly be. There was reggae, glam rock, electronica and the emerging genre which went by the short and snappy name of 'rap'. You name it, most great music originated from these mere ten years which lay sandwiched in between the glamorous decade of the 70's and the pop-ridden, boy band infested years which haunted the 90's.

The films were quite a different story. You had the opportunity to see thrillers and horror stories such as The Shining and Nightmare on Elm Street. However, you could also pay a visit to your local picture house and catch a showing of Back to the Future or the ever popular classic E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial. Science fiction was the genre of film which actually defined the decade. With computer generation still merely a wish a way, life size models and animation were indeed still ruling the movie world by now.

However, not all aspects of this decade were quite so wonderful. There were gangs and drugs and, like most massively populated cities, a lot of disagreements, which also meant quite a few murders too. And, London was certainly no clear exception to this basically cemented rule.

One woman hated this decade. She was called Roxana Philippe. Roxana was stuck in a dead end university course which she was certain that she was failing. The course was very boring and she really had no idea why she had chosen to take it on. She had been fascinated by space ever since she was a little girl, growing up in Nottingham. However, now, she began to feel as though her passion for it was beginning to grow cold and brittle. The course which she was studying was so that she could hopefully gain one of the things she had wanted most in her life, and, that was a degree in astrophysics.

Roxana cursed herself for ever even deciding to enrol in this godforsaken course. It was too hard and the highest grade she had ever managed to achieve in a project or research assignment was a disappointing, yet not exactly awful B grade. She prayed and crossed her fingers every time the professor gave them back their papers, however, not once had she seen the letter A written on her paper.

Roxana did, however, more or less know why she wasn't getting the grades which she wanted so very much. And that was because of the fact that she wasn't revising nearly as much as she should be doing. She would spend her time writing short science fiction stories, and not actually locked up in her bedroom, studying, which was the view retained by her very religious and stoic catholic parents. She was only young, being barely twenty-two, and so, she had no real care for religious matters. She only liked writing and reading and the occasional Duran Duran song.

She had been out in town, shopping, with her friends. It was a cold winter's evening, sometime in the middle of November and she gathered that the vast majority of the people who were shopping, also, had Christmas shopping on their minds. Roxana, however, did not. She did all of her Christmas shopping around January time, so that she could be prepared as well as take full advantage of the wonderful January sales.

Feeling exhausted, Roxana hopped on the nearest bus and tried to sleep. The bus ride was very jolty and the road was certainly not as flat as it should have been. Every time the bus stopped or speed up or simply turned just a tiny little bit, it would shudder and she would be awoken. Realising that there was probably no real point for her to be sleeping on this bumpy and uncomfortable ride, she opened her eyes wearily and, being ever so careful not to mess up her eye make-up, she rubbed them.

The bus came to a sudden halt and the large, powerful engine started to choke and splutter loudly. She looked out behind her and, through the window, she could see, to her utter dismay, black, cloudy and thick smoke pouring out of the back of the old vehicle. Moments later, the driver stepped out of his cabin and said to the many passengers of his, "Sorry, fellas, but it looks like the old gal's broken down."

One passenger, an old man, maybe fifty or sixty, asked him, "Is a repair truck not coming?"

The driver pushed his thickly rimmed glasses further up his large, bony nose and said, "There will, yes. But, that won't be for hours yet."

The passengers seemed to emit a simultaneous, loud and annoyed sounding groan. And, one of them was Roxana. She slumped back in her chair and looked at her watch. It was late. Very late. She studied the two hands of the clock face moving with that impertinent little ticking noise and realised that it was coming up to eleven o'clock at night. Every day, her parents would call her at around nine o'clock in the evening just to check that she was all right and that everything was quite well at her new apartment. However, as she had told them that she was going out shopping late, her mother and father had said that they would, instead, call her at ten or maybe even half past tem this time. It was way past that time now and Roxana gathered that they would quite probably and quite understandably be getting worried about her.

She knew that she couldn't realistically stay on this stricken source of public transport for hours more, so she stood up and said to the driver patiently, "Can you open the door? I'm going to leave."

He looked at her and said, disapprovingly, "Be careful, a pretty little thing like you, god knows what could happen."

She gave him a sarcastic and rather annoyed smile before walking off the bus.

The journey was long and tiring, but she had finally made it back to her little, cosy apartment. On the way, she had gone to a payphone and called her parents, but they hadn't answered, so she realised quickly that they were probably asleep, so she left it at that and then carried on walking home.

She turned the key in the dirty lock and then walked up the few flights of steep stairs before flicking on the light switch in the main living area of her apartment. She washed, changed and then got into bed and slept dreamily.


	2. Epilogue: It's Me Again!

"Good morning," Q said proudly, smiling broadly.

She stared at him. Wide-eyed. Open-mouthed. "What are you doing here?" she exclaimed in sheer surprise.

"I came to pay you a visit," he said bluntly.

"I never thought you would be the sentimental type," she muttered, but smiling.

"Did I say I was? he remarked.

Then, she realised how long if had been. "You idiot!" she yelled at him.

"You can't call a member of the mighty Q Continuum idiots," he countered angrily.

"I can, and I just did," she snapped.

"Oh, Jean-Luc," Q sighed. "You shouldn't have distracted me. Now I've visited the lovely lady in the wrong time period."

"It's been a year," she informed him. "You don't just pick someone up and then drop them."

He shrugged his shoulders. "When you've finished your ranting, I have something to show you."

"You do?" she asked skeptically.

He clicked his fingers and handed something to her. She took it from him and studied it. She stared at it, taking it in. "Oh, my God."

"Yes, I suppose I am."

She ignored his interjection and continued to study the object; the book. "But, this is my book..."

He nodded. "Yes. It looks as though my advice paid off."

"How did you... How did you do this?"

He sighed and turned the front page of the book. He read the publication date. "2374."

"Erm... Thank you...?" she stuttered, still shaking as she held the book. "This is from the future. And it's my book," he observed.

"I hear its quite a hit," he told her. "One nod Kathy's favourites. Never could get Jean-Luc hooked, though."

Instantaneously, she lurched forward and threw her arms around his neck. "I think I've finished it," she said, as she pulled back. "The book."

"Oh?"

"You ought to check it through," she suggested.

"I think I should," he agreed. "Terrorising the poor old captain can get a little boring. I'll need some inspiration."


	3. Coffee

"Can we have coffee?" Q asked the random question.

Roxana opened her eyes. She had fallen asleep whilst typing. She gathered that she must have been leaning on the J key, because there was a thick blob on the paper in the shape of a J when she moved the arm of the key off of the paper. She yanked the paper off of the roller and threw it in the bin. She was, at least, thankful for the fact that she had only written a few sentences on that now destroyed piece of paper, so she wouldn't have that much to redo. She looked up at Q and rubbed her eyes. "What?"

He sighed and then repeated it, pronouncing every syllable very carefully, "Can we have coffee?"

"Now?" She asked him, confused and fed up.

Once again, Q sighed and then replied, "Yes, now. When did you think?"

"No we can't," she said simply.

"Why ever not?" Q asked her.

"Because, I don't want to," she said.

"But I've never had coffee before."

She shrugged. "Then you won't mind waiting a little while longer." She started to continue with her work.

"Please?" Q asked, stretching out the word much more than it needed to be.

"For a twenty thousand year old guy, you sure do act like a two year old," she observed.

Q pulled a face at her when she wasn't looking.

After half an hour, she stopped typing. "Fine," she said as she stood up from her chair. "We can go for coffee."

Q smiled. "Finally," he exclaimed.

"I have to say," Q began slowly. "I don't care much for walking."

She shrugged and smiled at him. "Well, I guess you'll just have to get used to not being able to 'poof' everywhere then, won't you?"

"I do not 'poof'," he decided adamantly.

"Whatever you say," she said, closing the pointless subject. "Anyway, where do you want to have coffee?" She asked.

"How am I supposed to know? I've never been here before."

"You said you had," she said, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed. "I have, but not to this particular place. London, or whatever it was called. It's so very dreary and boring, why on earth would I ever want to come here?"

Roxana chuckled and said, understanding everything that he had said, "Touché."

They walked throughout the high street for a little while longer until they came across a little suburban coffee shop. It was small and seemed almost lost, being shoved rather indignantly in between two towering estate agents. "This'll do," Roxana suggested.

Q inspected the outer area of the shop before gingerly opening the door and walking through. He held the door open for Roxana, which prompted her to say, "I see you haven't forgotten your manners."

"I would never do that," Q said, sounding almost as if he were injured.

She grinned and said, "I think I should buy the drinks."

"I have no money," he said simply.

She rolled her eyes, saying, "Sure."

Q shrugged, thinking no more of it and found a table. It was by a window and he had chosen to sit next to two quite old people who were arguing over nothing important and two teenagers.

Moments later, Roxana returned with a mocha, for herself, and black coffee. She gave it to Q. He gulped it down so quickly that anyone would think he was severely dehydrated or something. He instantly put the cup down on the table. "Ow," he said.

"It's hot, did you not know that?" She asked him, raising a quizzical and amused eyebrow.

He shook his head and winced at the pain that his now throbbing and burning tongue brought him.

Roxana drank her mocha in small, delicate and quiet sips. It took her almost a whole hour to finish it.

"You people wear some rather odd things," Q pointed out. He looked over at a punk teenager and a man who looked strikingly like a quite overweight John Travolta.

She laughed sweetly. "If you say so."

He scanned what Roxana was wearing. "You seem to be wearing the most normal garments."

"I do?" She echoed him, severely doubting what he had just said in his observation.

He nodded, saying, "Uh huh. A few people in here look as though they would rather like the idea of cutting my throat. And a few others would not surprise me if they simultaneously broke into random song."

Roxana couldn't help but giggle, so she did. "Who exactly are you?" She asked him as she studied his face. He sure did look human. Kind of.

"I've already told you. I am Q."

"No, I mean, who are you? Where do you come from? When do you come from?" She put to him a great deal of questions all at the same time.

"I am Q of the magnificently omnipotent race called the Q," he said, thinking nothing of it.

"Your race is called the Q?" She asked, trying to contain her amusement.

He nodded and rolled his eyes. "Yes. Do I always have to repeat things for you?" He asked, fed up.

Roxana shook her head. "What year are you from?"

"Not this year," he replied rather uselessly.

"Not helpful," she said bluntly and feeling annoyed.

She let out a small sigh, before asking him, "Seriously, what year? Unless you don't have years or something where you come from."

"2365," he replied bluntly.

"Wow," she said quietly. "So, you're like a time traveller or something?"

"You could say that, although a more appropriate term would be omnipotent."

"I get that. You've said that twice now," she said. "You expect me to believe you're god-like?"

He shook his head and smiled widely. "No, no. I'm not 'god-like'. I am a god."

She scoffed. "No you're not."

"Tell me one reason why I am not," he offered.

"If you were god, would you not want to stop suffering on this world? War? Famine?" She asked him desperately.

He just replied simply, "My people are forbidden from interfering with the affairs of other cultures."

"So, you're not god then are you?"

"I am not God, no. But, I am a god."

Roxana rolled her eyes and shrugged. She could see that this conversation was probably not going to go anywhere important, so she pressed the matter no more. "Can you get me some sugar?" She asked him after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.

"I do not know where it is," he said simply, trying to get out of retrieving that infernal sugar for her.

"You do," she stated.


	4. When Dimensions Collide

_What on Earth?!_  Q thought to himself. 

He glanced down at himself and saw that he was wearing something. Thank god for that, he said to himself gratefully. It was the red and black uniform of a Starfleet captain. He quickly came to the concerning and annoying realisation that he was lying down. He sat up and saw that he was lying on a couch. It was made of pristine, white leather. He looked around the room in which he had found himself in. It looked quite cosy and neat. There didn't seem to be a single thing out of place. Not one piece of straggling rubbish scattered here nor there or a crumb on the wooden floor. There was an odd looking box in one corner. It was black and thick and quite large. It had two wires protruding out of it which resembled, very clearly, antennae. In a way, that is what they were. It was a television set.

He was just about to stand up when he heard footsteps coming from somewhere. Already scared and confused basically out of his actually non-existent wits, he stayed where he was. He listened more intently and heard that the light footsteps were actually coming closer. Wanting to see who or, indeed, what it was that was making the annoying noise, he sat up on the couch.

Roxana Philippe stepped out of her bedroom and yawned loudly. She walked through the hallway and made her way into the living room. What she saw next was so very puzzling and frightening that she could find no words which she saw fit to describe it. She didn't scream, she didn't speak, she didn't yell in a state of confusion or terror, she just stood there.

"Who are you?" She managed to get out the three trembling words as she walked over to the intruder so that the two were a little bit closer.

Q stood up and said proudly and impertinently, "I am Q."

She stuttered, "Q? Q?"

He sighed annoyingly and said, "Yes, I've already said that."

"How did you get in here?" She asked him, sounding scared all of a sudden.

"I have no idea!" Q replied, sounding rather jovial and nonchalant about the whole confusing matter.

She gingerly and carefully took another step towards him. "What do you want? Are you a burglar, or are you going to kill me?" She asked him, being terrified.

He let out a short and confusing chuckle. "Why on Earth would I want to do that?"

She shrunk back a little.

"Moving on," Q said, changing the subject already. "You're not from France are you?"

She shook her head and replied quietly, "No."

Q smiled a smiled full of glee. "Oh, thank god for that!"

"Do you not like French people?" She asked him, puzzled by his response.

"Not especially. I had this friend once who was French and I could never put up with him. So close minded." Q tutted and shook his head disapprovingly.

Roxana asked him slyly, "Are you sure it wasn't him that couldn't put up with you?"

"How dare you?" Q started rudely. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, if appearing magically on someone's sofa is how you usually say hello, then you can't really blame them," she replied logically.

He nodded, saying, "True, true."

"You're not an alien are you?" She asked him worriedly.

"What makes you think that I am?" He asked her.

"You don't seem very human," she said simply, still examining him.

He shrugged and then replied, "Good, you humans aren't as stupid as you seem. Generally speaking."

"So, you are?" She asked.

He nodded and grinned. "I am, yes, not that you would understand. I am a god."

"A god?" She echoed, alarmed. "How are you a god? You don't really look like what a god should look like."

He scoffed, actually beginning to feel a little disheartened by what she had just said. "What were you expecting? A little old man with a grey beard and pointy hat?"

"Well, no…" she said quietly, realising her mistake and suddenly feeling quite ashamed of herself.

"If you don't believe I'm a god, watch this," he said, with a cunning smile. Q stepped back a little and then clicked his fingers. His clothes instantly changed from the Starfleet captain's uniform to a more natural outfit. He was wearing a t shirt and boot cut jeans. His hair was slicked back.

Roxana was lost for words. "How… How did you do that?" She asked him, amazed by his little stunt.

"Magic," Q replied simply.

"Magic isn't real," Roxana said, not believing him for one tiny moment.

"True, it doesn't. But, it might as well be for you," Q replied rudely. He changed the subject again, "What year is it?"

She laughed and asked him, "How much did you have to drink last night?"

"Nothing," he said innocently. He wasn't really sure what she had meant by that. He never drank alcohol. He never drank anything. He had no need to do so. He saw it as just a waste of time. A human pastime.

She laughed and, once she had controlled herself, replied, "It's 1989."

"Fun," he said half-heartedly. "The 80's."

"Tell me about it," Roxana said glumly. She sighed.

"I haven't been here in quite a while."

"What, you mean London?" She asked him quizzically.

"No, no," he said. "I mean this year."

She cocked a curious and unsure eyebrow.

Q continued, after realising that she wasn't going to say anymore, "It's been a long time. Four hundred years, to be precise."

"Four hundred years?" She repeated, stunned and confused.

He nodded, smiling. "Yes, four hundred."

"So, you mean to tell me that you're four hundred years old?" She asked, dumbfounded.

He laughed and replied, smiling, "Not at all."

"So, you were lying about that then?"

"I was not, no. That is just not my age," he responded nonchalantly.

"How old are you then? Thirty? Forty?" She quizzed him.

Q replied simply and to the point, "In your dreary human way of counting, I am over twenty—"

She cut him off, mid-sentence. "Sorry, but there is no way that you're twenty!"

Q continued, as if she had never interrupted him. "—thousand years old."

"What?!" She yelled.

He nodded and grinned. He scoffed, saying, "Humans."

All of a sudden, the pair became aware of a loud ringing sound. It was the phone.

"I think someone's calling you," Q said.

She closed her gormless mouth and walked over to the landline phone. She picked up the handset and said tiredly, "Yes, hello?"

"Oh, Roxana! Thank god you're all right!"

She realised that it was her mother's relived voice. "I am. Sorry for not calling you."

"Your father bought something for you and he said he wants you to have it now," her mother said.

Roxana tried to smile. "Tell him thanks."

"You can do that. We'll come over in a few minutes."

Roxana sighed and hit her head softly. "You don't have to do that," she said weakly.

"Nonsense, we want to see how your kitchen looks."

Roxana had recently repainted her kitchen. It used to be a rather hideous shade of bright, even fluorescent green. It was now a more neutral colour.

"We'll be round about twelve," her mother said happily.

"Great," Roxana said despairingly.

Her mother said goodbye and then hung up. Roxana put the phone back in its cradle. She sighed. She looked at the clock and saw that it was already a quarter to twelve noon. She cursed herself under her breath.

Q walked over to her and said, "Mother?"

She nodded, before asking him, "How did you know?"

He said nothing but simply tapped the side of his nose twice. He had heard every single word of their conversation on the phone. "And, may I say," he began again. "Nice kitchen."

She moaned. "You need to leave," she said bluntly.

"Why?" He asked her confusedly.

"Because my parents are coming over and they certainly will not want to be seeing you here!" She shouted at him.

Q raised an eyebrow curiously at that. He then clicked his fingers, but nothing happened. He was hoping that he would disappear in brilliant blaze of light like he usually did, but that didn't happen this time. Not even the slightest 'poof'. He frowned and then said, "I can't leave,"

"You can," she said angrily.

He shook his head. "No, really. I can't."

Roxana groaned. "Just, hide or something." She stormed out of the room and went into the bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later. Her hair was straightened and washed and her face seemed fresher. Q noticed the makeup she had on. She was also wearing different clothes; leggings and a top.

Moments later, the doorbell rang and Roxana walked over to the door. She opened it and her parents were, as she had expected, on the other side. Her father was a tall man with a moustache and a friendly tone. Her mother had pink rimmed glasses and she was quite short. Both of her parents had greying hair.

"Roxana! How are you?" Her father asked.

She smiled, "I'm fine. How are you?"

"We are both quite well," her mother replied for the both of them.

"Come, sit down," Roxana gestured to the couch upon which Q had been lying only less than an hour ago.

They sat down.

"Would you like anything to eat? Tea?" Roxana asked them

They nodded. "A cup of tea would be lovely," her mother replied.

Minutes later, the kettle had boiled and she handed over the two cups of tea to them. "Get anything exciting while you were shopping?" Her father asked her in between tentative sips of his tea.

Roxana was consumed by worry over this Q crisis. Therefore, she didn't answer straight away. "Sorry? Oh, no, there wasn't anything worth buying," she replied, sounding quite distant.

"You didn't go by yourself, did you?" Her mother asked, sounding worried all of a sudden.

Roxana shook her head, saying, "No, I went with…" she paused, not knowing what else to say.

Exactly at that moment, Q appeared. He walked into the room and sat down beside Roxana. "She went with me," he said, finishing off her broken sentence.

Roxana's mother was too stunned and confused to say anything, so her father intervened. "You went with him?"

Roxana looked at Q and replied quietly, "Yes…?" Her answer was more of a question than it was an actual statement.

"Well… that's certainly not what we expected," her mother finally spoke.

Q looked a little annoyed, and he was. "Why not?" He asked her, impertinently.

"For one," her mother said, "You're too old."

"Old?" He asked. Roxana gave him a look which let him know that he should probably be quiet, so that was what he did.

"Thank god for that," Roxana said after her parents had left. "I thought they'd never leave." She clapped her hands together and said suddenly, "Can you leave now?"

He clicked his fingers and, again, nothing happened. "No," he replied bluntly and to the point.

"Why don't you just call a cab, or get on a train? Stop clicking your fingers like that!"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Because, my simple woman, Q don't use public transport."

"You don't? Why not?" She asked him, wearily.

"The service is terrible."

She couldn't argue with that. Certainly not after last night's ordeal with the old broken down bus. She asked him something else. "You called me simple."

"I know I did."

"Why?"

"Because you are."

She scoffed. "I most certainly am not. And, if you are going to stay any longer, just… shut up!"

He said no more and Roxana walked into her study and began to type up her new novel.

Q walked into the room moments later. She had barely even finished her second chapter. "These things make such a dreadful racket, don't they?" He said, looking at the typewriter in disgust.

"Well, what do you suggest I use instead?" She asked him. "A computer?"

Why not?" He asked her, shrugging.

"For one, they take up way too much space. And, secondly, they cost as much as this apartment!"

He sighed. "Perhaps I'm thinking of the wrong era," he said simply.

She smiled sarcastically. "Perhaps."

"Anyway, what are you writing?" He asked.

"Can't you tell with your special powers?" She asked him sardonically.

He smirked. "I can, yes. And, the plot isn't very good."

"Oh, really?" She asked.

"Really," he replied. "It's a little too…" he thought for the correct word to say. "Predictable."

"You're really not helping, you know that?"

"I try," he said with a shrug.


	5. Adventures Are Fun

"I've made breakfast," she called out to him, as she set out two plates of food on the table. She poured some coffee into two mugs and put them, also, onto the table.

Q at up from the sofa and approached her. He smirked when he saw the meal she had made.

Noticing his wry, amused smile, she commented, "What's so funny?"

"You've wasted your time," he replied. "I've all ready made it clear that I don't need food."

"A 'thank you' would go a long way," she murmured. "Anyway," she added, sighing. "You asked me out for coffee not so long ago."

"I did not ask you out for coffee," he snapped.

She raised an eyebrow. "Yes. You did." She gestured to the table and sat down. "It won't do you any harm to eat."

Agreeing, albeit, rather begrudgingly, Q shrugged and obeyed. He sat down opposite her and examined the contents of the plate before him.

She had already tucked into her meal hungrily, but Q was still just sat there rather stoically. He poked around the food on the plate curiously. "I guess it was a waste, then," she muttered.

"I don't like scrambled egg is all," he said flatly.

"Shame," she said. "You know, I didn't have to make you anything."

"You didn't," he said simply. "You could've used the time to spend more time on that novel of yours."

"I thought you said it was crap," she said.

Finally, Q started eating his meal and quite simply staring at it. "Dismal," he agreed. "Not that that means you shouldn't continue writing it."

She sighed and finished off her meal, getting to her feet and scraping the leftovers into the bin. She leant on the countertop and said, "I won't do that just to give you the satisfaction."

A started back, appearing offended. "You've offended me."

She blinked at him and stated. "I what?"

"I said, you've offended me," he repeated.

"Don't," she warned, as she took the meal from him and put it on the draining board. He looked up at her, in slight disgust. "I was enjoying that."

She moaned and tied her hair up in a messy pony tail. Q studied her curiously. "What are you planning on doing today?" she asked him.

Q, as always, was without much care. "Everything seems to... annoy you." But, before she could interject his rude statement, he added, "What suggestions do you have?"

"I need to go shopping," she replied. She opened and then closed the fridge door. "It's getting a little bare."

"You're not going out in that, are you?" he observed, looking at her.

She scoffed, and then calmed down. "What would you rather I wore?" she teased.

Q cleared his throat. "... That's up to you."

Half an hour after going to change clothes, she emerged wearing a T-shirt and jeans. He frowned when he saw her.

Catching sight of his gaze, she said, "Let me guess: another one of your criticisms?"

"Not at all," he simply replied, smiling. "I was just wondering why Frankie says relax."

For a moment, she simply stared at him stupidly. Then, her expression morphed into a laugh and she sighed, very amused. "Never mind." She picked up her purse and opened the door, watching him regrettably as he left.

"Where will we go?" he asked her, sounding particularly excited.

"Everything doesn't have to be an adventure, you know," she told him, in a slightly scathing town.

"Adventures are fun," he said, beaming at her. "And, this is fun."

She rolled her eyes and walked in awkward silence as the two of then walked down the high street. They approached a large car park, which was attached to an equally large shop. She picked up a basket once they had entered the building.

Yawning, she led him to the fruit aisle. "If you want to be helpful," she told him, "you can go and fetch some apples and... oranges."

"I didn't say I wanted to be helpful," he countered, smugly.

She harrumphed and said firmly, "You're so frustrating, has anyone ever told you that?"

Beaming proudly, he replied, "Everyone. All the time."

"Just get the fruit," she said exasperatedly.

Smilingly, he went off to get the fruit. When he returned to her, he gave her the objects roughly.

"Great," she moaned. "Now they're bruised."

"Oh, I do apologise," he said half-heartedly. "I'm just a little disturbed after that woman's odd looks."

"What woman?" she asked.

Q wrinkled his nose as he pointed over to an elderly woman in a far aisle. "Her."

"It's probably because you're dressed in that," she said, looking him over as he stood tall in the uniform of a 24th century Starfleet captain.

He frowned. "I rather like this."

"Then, don't worry about what other people think," she advised. "Just stay quiet and don't draw too much attention to yourself for the time being."

With mock obedience, he bowed his head and let her lead the way.

When they left the shop, they soon returned to her flat.

"Are you going to continue with your novel now?" he asked, grinning.

"I might as well," she finally decided.

She sat at her typewriter, after putting away the newly bought food, which Q didn't offer his help in sorting out. He leant down to watch her closely a she typed.

"Oh, that's not good," he muttered, observing.

"What isn't?" she wearily asked, stopping typing for a moment.

"This may take some time," he said. He saw her glower at him, so added, "But, change the setting."

"The what? The setting?" she asked, confused, and offended. "Why?"

"It just doesn't sit right with me."


	6. Earl Grey

Roxana screwed her nose up and put the cup back on the table. Q caught her gaze and frowned.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked, inspecting the tea. "It is not poisonous."

She rolled her eyes. "Its Earl Grey," she muttered, pointing to the mug that he was holding.

He shrugged. "Why does that matter?" he quizzed her, still looking confused.

"For one, I do not even _have_  Earl Grey in my cupboard. Secondly, I certainly don't have it with  _milk_  in!" she answered him angrily.

Q smirked. "Tea's tea," he said simply. "What's the difference? It has to be the most boring beverage, yet here you are, arguing over a slight difference in flavour."

"You're so close minded," she murmured. "It would hardly surprise me if you said that a zebra is the same as a donkey."

"Well, from my point of view," he justified. "They might as well be. After all, it's a big universe, big being an understatement, as you say, so a donkey and a… zebra are basically the same for me."

She took the tea from him and tipped it down the sink. "Honestly, milk in Earl Grey. You are strange."

"Are you going to moan at me all day?" he asked, sounding tired, though she knew he liked winding her up.

She put her hands on her hips. "I will not waste my breath," she replied.

"I know," he said. "Why don't we call your parents over again?"

She raised an eyebrow "Why don't  _we?_  Because you utterly embarrassed me last time. You didn't even invite them over, neither did I. They invited themselves over, what a surprise they must have had."

Q did not cringe or blush or interject, only nodded proudly. "Any woman would be lucky to have me."

"I'm sure she would," Roxana scowled.

"Have you heard of Helen of Troy?" he asked.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Thinking it over, she replied, "Yes. I know who she is."

"Then I take it you have heard of the Trojan War?" he asked.

She nodded as memories of Ancient Greek at school came back to her. "Yes, she caused it."

"With a little help from..." he trailed off, pointing to himself.

Roxana shook her head. "Oh, shut up." She smiled wryly, before sitting down at her type-writer.

"You're writing  _again?"_  Q complained.

"It's not like I can go to university," she said. "The holidays are still on."

Q rolled his eyes. "Holidays? From school?"

She looked up at him. "University."

He shrugged. "Whatever. It's all the same. Learning pointless things to get you through your blink-of-an-eye life." He leant against the wall definitively.

"School is useless?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow, setting up her type-writer.

He nodded "Well, Q schools are very important. After all, we keep the universe in line."

"Literally, university?" she echoed, smiling.

He nodded slowly. "Indeed. You see, we Q have so much to do. From watching you, all you human beings seem to do is go to work or school, watch that brain cell killing box, eat chips and sleep."

"Being human is a lot more fun than that," she countered. "Granted, I am sure that a few of my neurons die when I watch Top of the Pops."

Q picked up a vinyl record and scoffed.

"Are you listening to me?" she asked, annoyed.

He nodded. "Yes. I do not have to look at you to listen to you."

"It's courtesy," she justified.

"You people are so polite," he moaned.

"You're saying that as if it is bad," she said.

He shrugged, put the record down. "Maybe I'll have my hair like that."

"God, no," she muttered.

"I've told you, call me Q. God is far too pretentious," he said.

"And you're not at all pretentious," she said sarcastically. Her gaze on him lingered. He nodded abruptly then clicked his fingers. She gaped at what she saw.

"Oh, gosh," she exclaimed. "You'd give  _A Flock of Seagulls_  a run for their money!" She burst out laughing.

Q seemed to take offence; he drew back and examined his hair in the mirror.

Shaking her head, still laughing, Roxana said, "Some people suit mullets. Like Simon le Bon..." She grinned. "Some, do not suit them."

Q folded his arms. His haircut resumed its normal shape and size. "Better?"

She nodded. "Much better."

"Let's get to work with your novel," he decided.

She frowned. "Yes, my novel. Not ours. Not yours. I can write it myself, thank you, Q. Go and watch TV or something," she suggested, waving him away.

But he did not move. He only smiled and held his position. "I am renowned for my unsurpassed artistic ability. Across the universe."

"I'm sure you are," she said. "But, this is my work and I want to do it alone. I can't put up with your sarcastic comments morning, noon and night. If you won't watch the television-"

"That's right," he interjected. "I won't."

"Then why don't you read a book," she added.

"I'll read your book," he said simply.

"You can when I finish it," she said with finality. "But at this rate, I doubt I will finish it before the millennium is out."

"A good book takes time to complete," Q said. "Plus, I, being immortal, have literally all the time in the world. Your book could take until the Sun explodes and I would be happy to wait."

"Except, I'm not immortal," she reminded him. "Not sure that I want to be."

"Suit yourself," he said bluntly. He stood watching her for a few minutes, then harrumphed and sat down on the sofa. He glanced at the clock, then at the TV set, then at Roxana again. In the end, he resorted to tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair.

Roxana turned around and glared at him. "Stop that, or you're leaving," she snapped.

"How much have you written?" he asked, out of the blue.

She was silent for a moment, then replied, "I've finished the chapter, actually."

"No need to look so proud," he chided. "I'm sure it's not exactly  _Gone With the Wind."_

"You read it?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No need to. I am sure my life followed that plot at some point."

She smiled wryly. "If you're lucky, maybe you'll make it into my book."

"I think you may be confusing the meaning of the word 'lucky'," Q muttered. He gestured to the fridge. "May I?"

She nodded. "Depends what you want."

"Nothing too filling," he replied. "Do you have any toast?"

She stood up and walked over to the breadbin. "Not in the fridge, I don't." She handed him two slices of bread.

He stared at them. "Toast," he said.

"Yes. It's not a natural thing, you know. Don't they teach you anything at Q school? You have to put the bread in this," she spoke deliberately, seeing if he had figured out that she was scathing him. He shoved the bread in the toaster, then watched it. She rolled her eyes and pushed the bread down and she set the timer. He nodded. "Ah, yes. These machines of yours are so…  _needy."_

"Remind me not to get a needy toaster next time I need one," she murmured.

"What makes you think I will be staying long enough for me to be able to remind you?" he mocked, a wry smile creeping across his face.

She frowned. "Good point. Though it is nice having someone make tea for me, even if you do it badly. Hideously."

He nodded curtly. "The magnificent, omnipotent, glorious Q, at your service," he said with a bow.

She laughed. "Any more adjectives and you'll turn into one!"

He raised en eyebrow. "Oh, you humans and your humour."

"Right," she said defiantly. "To work."

"Off you go then," he said.

"No, I don't mean it literally. I mean, I need to do my coursework," she clarified.

He knitted his brow. "Course. Work?"

She nodded. "Ye—es," she said, looking confused. "For university. You see, I have to-"

He cut her off. "Yes, yes, I know."

She raised both eyebrows. "You do?"

"Not exactly," he admitted. "But I did not particularly want to listen to whatever you had to say, so I said so."

"Honesty is the best policy," she muttered.

With an over-the-top grin, he clicked his fingers and a chair appeared beside her. He sat down in it, much to Roxana's dismay. She looked at him sceptically. "Oh, no, please." She slapped her forehead.

Smiling jovially, he nodded and gestured to the type-writer and textbooks strewn across the desk. She picked one up, scanned the contents, then opened it up to the preferred page. She slammed it on the table, to which Q jumped.

"Here we go," she muttered, flicking the page over, then back again, grinning grimly.

"You do not look so pleased," he observed.

"No, I'm not pleased," she agreed. "I'm confused and stressed and seriously starting to doubt my life choices."

"I don't understand," he said.

"I thought a god was meant to understand everything," she murmured.

"When he wants to," he countered.

She sighed. "Fine. It's just, I've tried to hard with this course, yet I still barely scrape a B. I want an A, well, I need an A, but I can't get it."

"I could help you," he offered.

She smiled. "Thank you, but we are not even allowed to ask humans for help, let alone deities."

He smirked. "So you're accepting my godliness now?"

She nodded. "Only because I need a god now. Anyway, moping won't help. Right, let's get to it.  _Page one, The Doppler Effect."_

Q got bored very quickly. Being omnipotent, he was not used to the idea of having Mother nature control him. He had little to do. His eyes drifted around the tiny flat, catching on the TV, on the bookshelf, on the fridge, on Roxana, on the noisy type-writer. "I should have come in a decade or so," he muttered.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, fully ensconced in her work, noting down key terms and descriptions, with a few diagrams.

"At least then I wouldn't have to put up with that infernal clickety-clack," he complained.

She raised an eyebrow, but said no more of it. Her gaze fell down to the desk and she noticed, there on the wood, a small doodle. She frowned, then scowled. "Q!" she yelled.

He stuck his finger in his ear and grimaced. "Must you?"

She scoffed. "What do you mean, Must you?" she repeated. "You're the one drawing on my table!"

"I'll get you a new one if you want. One not nearly so hideous," he suggested.

"You're really starting to get on my wick," she murmured, trying to get back to her coursework. She had read the words 'time dilation' ten times now. Yet it still had not gone in.

"Is this of value?" he asked.

"What, no, not really. I got it from Oxfam," she quipped.

"Then, what's the problem? I mean, sentimentality and materialistic needs are useless when you're omnipotent, like  _moi._  Oh Q, I'm speaking French!" he exclaimed.

"I mean, who writes their own name on a desk?" she said under her breath haughtily.

"I'm sure you did it," Q said with a smirk.

"I wrote the names of other people in my class," she admitted. "People I didn't like. That way, they got in trouble."

Q smiled and nodded. "Clever. Perhaps I should write your name here."

She chuckled, then read the rest of what he had written.  _"Q was here. Whoever reads this, send my love to Jean-Luc and Kathy. Not Benjamin."_

He nodded, pleased with his handiwork. "Now no one will forget me."

"You're omnipotent and immortal, apparently. No one has a choice but to remember you," she pointed out.

"Yes, but they need to  _remember_  me," he said emphatically.

She laughed grimly. "Who are you, Tucker Jenkins?" she asked, smiling to herself.

He frowned "Who?"

"You know,  _Grange-"_  She rolled her eyes. "Never mind."


	7. Q, Meet Q

She walked into the bathroom and screamed.

Q sighed heavily and walked over to her. "Q!" He exclaimed jovially.

Roxana looked at the tall man who was stood in front of her bathroom mirror, sorting out his light brown hair. He was trying to style it into some sort of a quiff, but his attempts really were failing quite terribly.

Q2 turned around and looked at Q. He ignored Roxana almost completely. "Hello, Q."

"You know him?! Roxana said to Q angrily.

"Of course I do," Q said simply.

Q2 stopped inspecting his hairdo and walked over to Roxana. "What are you doing here?" He asked her rudely.

"I live here!" She yelled at him angrily. "God, what is with you Q?!" She demanded.

Q and Q2 exchanged puzzled glances. Q2 began, talking to Q, "I am a messenger, if you will."

"A messenger?" Q repeated, already confused.

He nodded. "Yes, a messenger. I have been told to make you aware of the fact that you are stranded here."

"What?!" Q asked him angrily and confusedly.

"I'm afraid that is the case," Q2 said, with mock sadness. "But, you did bring this on yourself."

"I most decidedly did not!" Q argued.

Q2 shrugged his shoulders.

"How long do I have to stay here?" Q asked him finally.

"For as long as we see fit."

"Would you care to enlighten me about what exactly I am supposed to have done to deserve this?" Q asked him impatiently.

Q2 replied simply, "You are a meddlesome, interfering and frankly quite annoying man."

"I fail to see what—", he was cut off by Q2.

"Remember that little incident aboard the Enterprise?" Q2 asked.

Q guessed he was referring to the Farpoint mission and so, he nodded solemnly. "That was a simple misunderstanding."

Q2 then carried on, saying, "You have come too close this time, Q."

"So, I can come home?"

"We'll see." He was about to click his fingers and disappear, before Q stopped him from doing so by asking him quickly, "Why do I have some powers but not others?"

"So we can keep you under control. You're a rogue element, Q. We've been kind enough to let you keep your silly little insignificant powers. Like when you wanted to impress your lady friend here," he replied, gesturing to Roxana who was stood in the corner.

Q blushed at that. "I was not trying to impress her," he said, between tightly clenched teeth.

"Whatever you say," Q2 said. And, with a display of bright smoke, he disappeared.

Roxana just about managed to control what would have been quite a considerable laugh. Yet, try as she might, the laugh soon found its way out in the form of a short giggle. She looked at Q, who looked more lost than ever. He looked as though he had a lot of things on his mind. His face bore an expression of a great deal of feelings. However, the ones that Roxana thought she noticed were quite simple. And, they were confusion and loneliness. "Q?" She began slowly as she walked over to him a little closer.

He regarded her inquisitively. "Yes, what is it now?" He asked her, sounding very annoyed and frustrated with himself and Q2. And, indeed, the whole entirety of the Q Continuum.

"Maybe you should get some rest," she offered up the helpful suggestion.

He shook his head and smiled in a slightly mocking way. "I do not require rest, my dear woman," he responded simply. He wasn't human. He reconciled himself with that information. He would have to start acting like one, though. There was no way in the universe he would be remaining in this dreary year, in this dreary city, with frankly quite dreary people.

"Everyone needs to rest every now and then," she said as she raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

Q didn't offer any sort of response. He just stood there, motionless.

"Well, you can stay and sulk in here if you want, but I'm going to get some shut eye," she said bluntly as she started to leave the room.

Q crossed his arms and said rather defiantly, "I am not sulking!"

She smiled. "Yes, you are."

"Whatever," he replied. "I will stay here, then."

She cocked her head and then said, with a thoughtful expression on her face, "Actually, you can't stay in here."

He sighed over-exaggeratedly, in the way that seemed to get on the nerves of almost everybody. "Why?"

"This is my bathroom. I'm bound to come in here during the evening, aren't I?" She said, as if it were obvious. Which, it really was to any normal human being, but it was not all that obvious to someone or rather something like Q.

He nodded and then said, as if in a state of realisation, "Ah, yes. You mortals require frequent cleansing and bowel evacuation."

Roxana slightly winced at the sound of that. "You don't make it sound very nice," she observed, smiling. Then, she left. She realised that Q wasn't following her. "Were you even listening to what I just said?" She asked him wearily.

He nodded and looked a little hurt. "Of course I was listening. You weren't exactly talking quietly."

She moaned. "You're unbelievable," she said tiredly.

"I know," he said gladly.

"I let you stay in my house and I barely even know you," she said, feeling a little confused and annoyed.

"Am I supposed to say 'thank you' or something?" Q asked nonchalantly.

"That would be a start, yes," Roxana quipped.

Q didn't say anymore.


	8. Second Impressions

Q studied the young woman. He looked almost like a hawk or a vulture that was about to swoop down from atop the trees and attack it's vulnerable prey on some sort of African plain. He stared at her intently and closely. It was so close that it caught Roxana's alarmed attention. She did not, however, speak. She had other things on her mind. Other, more important things. Much more important things.

Q sighed deeply and heavily. "You look…" he paused and tried to guess the emotion. The only people he had ever really seen properly were from the Starship Enterprise. And, he knew that using them as a reference would certainly not be very helpful. Picard didn't show emotion that often apart from anger and frustration. Data wasn't even able to show emotion and when he did try, it didn't go down all that well. Geordi had the infernal VISOR on which was practically covering his entire face, so there was no help there either. Counsellor Troi annoyed him. Reading other peoples', minds, even if it isn't his own, was just rude. "Preoccupied," Q then finished off his sentence. "Is that the word?"

Roxana didn't hear him at first. It seemed that her brain was far too busy. "Sorry, what?" She asked him for a clarification on what he had just said.

"You look a little preoccupied," Q repeated himself. It was only a mere five words or so but, nonetheless, Q sounded tired as he said it.

She looked over at him. "That's because I am," she replied simply and rather unhelpfully.

"May I ask why?" He inquired, sounding very curious as he did so.

She stood up from her chair in the kitchenette area and then walked over to where Q was. She sat down beside him delicately. She made an attempt at composing herself and then she began slowly, "I don't think you know about the war, do you?"

Q paused to think for a moment. "I know a lot of things," he said happily. "Among that knowledge is quite a great deal about humanity's conflicts. You've had so many."

She nodded and felt her eyes begin to glaze over. She blinked a few times in response and her vision slowly began to clear up, before clouding over again.

Q continued, adding, "I can name them all if you want."

Roxana didn't say anything in response to that. Instead, she just sat there, staring at the white wall in front of her.

Taking her silence as some sort of 'yes' to his question, Q began to show off his knowledge. He started with, "Battle of Hastings." He went on and on. After naming quite a few world conflicts, he, at last, came to the twentieth-century mark. He continued, "World War One, World War Two, Cold War." The final war he said, "The Falklands War", elicited a response from Roxana. He cast his gaze over in her direction and saw that she was crying. "You're crying," he stated the obvious, not knowing what else he should say.

She looked up at him and sniffed. She wiped her eyes carefully.

"Why?" He asked her curiously. He had no idea what the answer was.

Once again, she sniffed. "My brother, Alexander, he enlisted in that war…" she droned off, her voice becoming nothing more than a quiet whisper.

"The Falkland's War?" Q asked her.

She nodded slowly. "Uh huh," she clarified simply for him. "He was killed," she said.

"I see," he said bluntly, lacking the appropriate emotion.

"No, you don't see," she said. "You can't die. Gods can't die," she corrected him.

He smiled briefly. "So you do think I'm a god?" He asked her cautiously.

"Can you only think of yourself?" She asked him angrily. "Not of others?"

No one else is worth thinking about. Q wanted to correct her, but he stayed quiet instead. He thought it was best.

"He was only nineteen," Roxana added dreamily. She stared at the floor deeply.

"That is very young," Q agreed. "Very young. It's such a shame, I think."

She nodded and a slight smile played on her lips. Then, her facial expression grew darker again. "My mother and father, they got a phone call from the army. A phone call! Can you believe that?"

Q shook his head. "I don't really know what that is but it doesn't sound too good," he said simply.

"It was horrendous. All they said was 'Your son, Alexander Iolas Philippe, was shot down off the coast of the Falklands whilst evacuating residents'. Nothing more. Just that."

"That does seem improper," Q finally agreed.

"He's gone…" she started before leaving her sentence in the middle.

"It does seem that way," Q said impertinently, not realising how rude he was sounding. "Although," he then added, as if trying to make amends for his rudeness. "There are billions of humans in this galaxy, I'm sure one dead one won't be missed."

Roxana was furious. "How could you say that?" She yelled at him angrily.

"I—" Q began, stammering as he did so. He realised, now, that he had said the wrong thing.

"You bastard!" She screamed at him. She wasn't sat very far away from him, so he could hear it very well. He could see the lines of both worry and sadness as well as anger gently etched into her porcelain face.

"I apologise…?" His statement became a question. Whether or not this was purposeful, Roxana, nor Q, were quite sure.

"You can't just apologise for something like that!" She corrected him. "I was right. You do have no sympathy for others. You only care about yourself!"

Q wanted to correct her on that, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

"I'm already so fed up with this stupid planet," she exclaimed. "And now… And now, they go and kill my brother! My brother!"

"I don't really think it's fair to blame the entire planet, even though it is a dreary little rock, on your brother's death," Q said, speaking his mind, as he always did.

She ignored him, and he silently thanked someone for that. "Why not?" She questioned him loudly. "People started this stupid little conflict, and now my brother is dead. We're going to destroy ourselves," she added. "A nuclear holocaust, that's how I reckon we'll go."

Q nodded and said, agreeably, "I agree. That probably would have happened had it not been for… other events unfolding."

"Other events?" She asked him as she regarded him with a quizzical expression on her face.

"I shouldn't have said that," Q admitted. He knew he couldn't mess with timelines. He couldn't tell this girl the future. "Never mind," he then added quickly.

Roxana wouldn't let it slip on by, though. "Tell me," she said. "Please."

"I cannot," Q replied simply.

"Oh, let me guess. Timelines and all that, right?" She hazarded a guess.

Q nodded. "Precisely."

"Too bad, I guess," she decided. She wiped her eyes delicately with her fingers and sniffed again. The tears had stopped flowing down her cheeks, and she was thankful for that. But, there was still that horrible feeling sitting at the bottom of her stomach. She tried desperately to ignore it.

"What I can tell you, though, is this," Q added. "Humanity doesn't die out."

"How do you know?" She asked him sceptically

"I'm from the future. Have I not said that?"

"No, no, you have. But, you're not from that far in the future," she said.

"Oh yes, I forgot. Four hundred years isn't a lot of time for you mortals is it?" He asked her sarcastically.

Roxana giggled and for a short moment, she forgot all of her worries and upsets. She composed herself and then reiterated her statement. "No, what I mean is, can you travel in time?"

"Of course I can. How else would I be here?" He mocked her.

"Future. Time travel to the future," she reiterated her question to him.

"Ah, well. No, not really. Only the Q can," he replied.

"Only your species can? Out of everyone in the universe, it's only you?" She asked in wonderment of his response.

Q nodded and smiled gleefully. "Yes, only me. Well, only us," he corrected himself reluctantly.

"Are you the only alien species?" She asked him after some time of silence.

He laughed at the mention of that. "What a foolish question!" He exclaimed.

"How is it foolish? "She asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"The universe is larger than your silly little monkey brains can comprehend and still, you think you are alone?" He asked her with a snigger.

She shrugged and then realised how stupid her question was. "Just answer my question," she said wearily.

Q controlled his burst of laugher and then replied, "How many species do you think there are out there?" He asked her.

She stood up and walked over to the balcony. She stood on it, staring out at the dark night sky. She lived in the outskirts of London, so the light pollution was not really bad. It wasn't great though, either. She strained her eyes and she could just about make out the bright stars of Castor and Pollux as well as Orion's Belt.

Q followed her and said, "That's home to a race of green slave-trading aliens." He knew she was looking at Orion.

She looked at him and smiled. "You're lying."

"I never lie," he said, partially telling the truth, partially lying.

Roxana lifted an eyebrow and rolled her eyes. "Seriously?" She asked him again, just to be sure.

He nodded his head and replied, "Absolutely positive. I once was unfortunate to get involved with them. Nasty people."

"Not all of them are like that though, are they?" She asked, needing some sort of clarification.

"Not all of them, but some of them are, yes. Humanity can get to be quite an annoyance, even more so than now, as time goes by. Twenty-third century, they're not that much of a big deal. But, it's a completely different story when it comes to a hundred years later and you humans start to think you're all some sort of magical race. Which, may I add, you are most definitely not," Q said.

"Oh, that's you, I guess? The magical race?" She asked him mockingly.

He nodded and grinned. "Precisely."

"You know," she began slowly. "I'm beginning to like you."

"You're the first person who's ever said that to me," he replied. "Jean-Luc was a fool for not accepting me."

"Really?" She asked.

He nodded and then replied, "Yes, really. But, I have been told that on numerous occasions by this rather persistent Klingon woman. My, she was a handful."

Roxana giggled. "Klingon?"

"Yes, them. You'll have the displeasure of meeting them some time in the future."

"Yes, but I'll be dead and buried by that time," she said sadly. She looked out at the dark, magical blanket of the night sky.

"Maybe," he said pensively.

She smiled at him and asked, "Maybe?"

"There are no definite outcomes in this world," he said cautiously.

Smiling, she leant her head on his shoulder and stared out at the cosmos.

Q frowned and looked down at her. He wanted to shrug her off or something. And yet, all the same, he found that he actually rather liked the feeling, so he let her stay there. "I'll go there sometime," she said wishfully.

He nodded and replied, half-awake, "I'm sure you will."

She took her weight off of him and then stood by his side. Q happened to look down at her at that particular moment and she looked up also. She stood on the tips of her toes she pressed her mouth to his. His lips were firm and felt sort of odd. They felt cold. They were cold. There was no taste, no smell and only the faintest of textures. She had closed her eyes, but he hadn't. He was just simply and rather awkwardly staring straight on ahead. Roxana broke the kiss and saw him beginning to blush. "Sorry," she said quietly.

"I didn't think it was customary for humans to apologize to one another after initiating such a move," he stated plainly.

She smiled and replied, "It isn't. But, I just… I don't know. It's just that the other Q said you were trying to impress me, so…"

"Ah," Q said grinning. "I understand." He was about to walk back into the main area of the flat when he turned and said, "But, he was right."

"What?" Roxana asked him confusedly.

"Q2 was right about me trying to impress you."


	9. All's Well That Ends Well

Q folded his arms. He huffed loudly and tried desperately to make sense of the events that had recently transpired. What were you thinking? he yelled at himself subconsciously. She is human! Q continued to curse himself about this matter. I am a god to her! Why did I act how I did? However, despite the basically endless amount of interrogation which he had subjected himself to, he could not seem to come up with a valid answer to his questions.

Roxana walked over to him gingerly. She sat herself down beside him. She had noticed his odd actions. He was sitting on a chair, simply staring out at the night sky. It had been a whole day since their kiss on her balcony, but ever since then, Q had been more or less silent. It was almost as though he was a life-long alcoholic struggling from the symptoms of withdrawal. Feeling a little uncomfortable with his prolonged silent state, she asked him quietly, "Q, are you going to stay silent forever?"

The seemingly omnipotent being had been in some sort of dream-like state. Therefore, it took him quite a few moments to register her question and then formulate some sort of valid reply. He regarded her, almost quizzically, for one moment and then he snarkily replied, "I never said I would, did I?"

Roxana sighed and her mouth showed a brief, yet visible, sarcastic smile. "No, I suppose you didn't," she said.

Q smiled a little.

Roxana had never felt more awkward in her entire life. "So, you're an alien, right?" She finally put a question to him.

Q managed to break his ever-lasting gaze at the stars and looked at her directly. "That is true," he responded, rather matter-of-fact about it.

She nodded slowly, once again, trying to take that revelation in. "So, if you are an alien, do you love?" She asked him. Almost as soon as those words had left her mouth, she instantly began to feel embarrassed about it. She felt her cheeks get a little bit hotter and her lips got slightly dry. She tried not to look at him

"Love is such a primitive emotion," Q answered her blandly. "My species had not really had a need for it for millennia," he then added.

Roxana finally picked up the courage to look at him and that is what she did. "Oh," she said, sounding small about it.

"Why do you ask?" He asked her curiously.

She shrugged quickly and deeply. "I don't know, really. I just asked," she lied.

Q felt his brows beginning to knit together and he said, "You 'just asked'?"

She nodded, "Uh huh, I guess so."

He still wasn't very convinced. And then, for some reason, which he couldn't quite work out, he added, "However, that does not mean my species cannot love."

Her ears seemed to almost actually prick up at the sound of that. She said to him finally, "I like you, Q."

Once again, the omnipotent one frowned, but this time, it was not really a particularly heavy frown. "I should imagine you like quite a few people," he said nonchalantly.

She laughed slightly. It was a short giggle. "No, that's not what I mean," she clarified for him.

"What else could you mean?" Q asked her, obviously feeling quite puzzled. Then, he realised what it was that she had meant, so he quickly added, "Oh."

Roxana nodded shyly. She didn't, however, speak. Instead, she moved and shuffled up beside him so that they were a little closer. She placed her hand on his cheek. It was cold and he flinched slightly. She leant forward slightly and closed her eyes and, to her surprise as well as to his, he did the same. Their lips touched and Q felt a slight smile begin to creep across his face. She reached up, trailing her slender fingers through his dark hair. Roxana rested her head on his shoulder and Q suddenly felt both pleased with himself and also angry with himself at the same time.

Just at that very moment, there was a brilliant show of light. The light wasn't just confined to one simple corner. It was everywhere. All around them, a yellow and white sort of haze was forming. It was like being caught inside some massively powerful firework. Roxana grew understandably scared. She found herself actually clinging to Q tightly, which forced him to say, "Could you possibly not squeeze me with so much force?"

She apologized quickly, her words almost nearly pouring out.

Q rolled his eyes and his mouth formed a little smile.

Then, Q remembered where he was. The images of the location began to form around him and he had the feeling that this is what it would be like if he were under the influence of Romulan Ale. Of course, he had never actually had the displeasure of having to experience that himself, however, he had seen quite a few people, human or otherwise, come under its intoxicating spell. The room stopped spinning and then he realised that the whole event had only lasted for a very, very short amount of time. It was, in fact, around a few seconds, maybe five or six.

He blinked a few times and looked around him.

Suddenly, a booming voice with an English accent spoke to him with mock joviality, "Q! How nice of you to drop in!" Q could tell that he wasn't being pleasant, the man's face was obviously that of an angered person.

Q realised instantly who he was talking to. "Why, Jean-Luc, perhaps you would like to tell me what I am doing here!"

Picard smiled slightly slyly. He stood up from his captain's chair and walked over to Q. "You have intruded on us, Q. I'm sure you know why you're here."

"If I did know, then I wouldn't ask, would I?" Q answered him wearily.

As always, Riker was sat next to Picard. "Who's this?" He asked Q as he looked in the direction of Roxana. Deanna looked over at Riker and tried to warn him not to take it any further; she didn't really want to have to endure the rather annoying wrath of Q.

Q blushed and he, too, cast his gaze over to Roxana. She had, at least, released her grip on him. "I…" he began quickly but he soon realised that he had no way to finish his sentence, so he stopped in mid-sentence.

"Never mind, Number One," Picard said calmly to his first officer and Riker reluctantly agreed, nodding. "If Q wants to involve his little lady friend, then so be it," he then added, smiling quite broadly.

Another blaze of light became apparent. This one was, however, a very short flash of brightness. It was Q2.

"Who are you?" Picard questioned the new visitor.

"I am Q," Q2 replied simply.

"What am I doing here?" Q asked Q2 desperately.

Q2 simply shrugged and then replied to him, "You can come home."

Roxana stepped forward. "What about me? I'm not from here," she said worriedly.

Data looked at her and regarded her in a quizzically yet fascinated sort of way. "Intriguing," he said the word with wonder. Roxana cast her gaze over at him and saw how ghostly pale and shiny his skin was. She felt herself involuntarily shiver. She almost fainted on the spot when she looked up, beyond the one named Jean-Luc, catching sight of a yellow and black clad man. Except, he wasn't a man. He was... She didn't even know how to describe him.

"Micro-Brain," Q told her.

She looked up at him and then realised that he was calling the man with the strange forehead by that name. She gave Q a withering look.

"Hmm…" Q2 said thoughtfully. "How peculiar."

Roxana frowned and then walked over to him. "Look, I have no idea as to what time period this is, but I can surely say that I am not meant to be here!"

"That is obvious," Q2 said unhelpfully. He was about to raise his hand up to click his fingers and return Roxana to her normal time period, when he felt someone's hand on his arm. It was Q's. Q2 looked at him confusedly before finally succumbing and he lowered his raised hand.

Roxana stood there, still and confused. "Q?" She asked him, sounding quite concerned.

Q didn't reply but, instead, he walked over to her. He lowered his voice quite considerably and then said to her, "I am not usually one for public declarations of love. However, I think I ought to... thank you."

She frowned and asked him, "What for? Why should you thank me?"

"I guess humans aren't as stupid as I once thought they were," he answered her, shrugging.

She smiled and then stepped forward a little so that she and Q were close. She put her hand to his face gently and then he leaned down to kiss her. Their lips touched and then, at that moment, Q2 had clicked his fingers and Roxana found herself back in her apartment, alone.

After another display of bright, blazing light, the two Q's were gone and Picard frowned before finally settling back into the captain's chair.


End file.
